Wishful Thinking
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: "And once everyone else has gone to sleep, she chants it like a mantra: I wish I wasn't a Slytherin." /Three evil wishes that didn't come true and one that did. Written for HPFC. [Word Count: 2,442]
1. I Wish I Wasn't A Slytherin

**I Wish I Wasn't a Slytherin**

* * *

Deep down, she's ashamed to be in Slytherin.

Because her sister is a Gryffindor and her mother is a Gryffindor and her father isn't anything, because he went to Durmstrang, but he's still the bravest man she knows, and he'd have been a Lion in a heartbeat.

So she spends her first nights curled up in her bed, sniffling in time with the dripping ceiling and longing for a warm fire and a cozy common room that's not built under a lake.

(She's never realized it before, but her worst fear is drowning.)

And once everyone else has gone to sleep, she chants it like a mantra: "I wish I wasn't a Slytherin."

* * *

The first spell she learns is _Wingardium Leviosa_.

And she doesn't see the point.

Because what good is it to make a feather fly - what good is it to have magic at all - if you're stuck in a house you hate?

The other Slytherins don't talk to her, except to tease about her height and her weight and her voice, and she tries not to look at the Gryffindor table, where everyone is friends and nobody is cruel.

Sometimes, when she can't bear to eat lunch with them, she slips off into the library and hides among the bookshelves.

She finds a releasing spell - _Relashio_ - and it's not what she wants, it can't release her from Slytherin, but she learns it anyway, and the next time one of the Snakes touches her, she'll be ready.

* * *

"Why don't you like Slytherin?" a first-year dressed in redandgold asks her - and it's ages later, she's already made Head Girl, her name is carved into plaques all over the school and nobody dares to bully her anymore.

(She can't admit it, even to herself, but the reason they leave her alone is because she's worse than all of them combined.)

"It's not that I don't like Slytherin. I'm just indifferent."

"Is it because you know Gryffindor is better?"

Her eyes tighten. "Gryffindor isn't better. Gryffindors are fools. And that's detention for you, Arthur Weasley."

(But as time goes on she realizes that no, she isn't indifferent - she simply hates all the houses equally.

Because Ravenclaws are stuck-up, especially Xenophilius Lovegood, who raises his hand to correct her during Charms class.

And Hufflepuffs are hopeless pushovers, especially the clumsy Amos Diggory, who's so bad at magic that he'd be better off if they snapped his wand and sent him to live as a muggle.

And Gryffindors are the worst of them all, because they're kind and helpful and loyal _but only to each other_.

And she's caught between envy and resentment, but in the end the dislike wins out.

At least the Slytherins are honest.

At least the Slytherins can admit they're only in it for themselves.)

* * *

The day she graduates, she swears she's never coming back to Hogwarts.

But she does.

Of course she does.

There's unfinished business there, after all. There are Ravenclaws who need to be put in their places. There are Hufflepuffs who need to be toughened up. There are Gryffindors who need to be _punished_.

And there are Slytherins like herself who need to be reminded that their house is great.

"Everyone," Albus Dumbledore says at the opening feast. "Please welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Dolores Umbridge."

* * *

_[Wishes of the Dark Side Competition: Lord Voldemort Level - Umbridge, indifferent, _relashio, _"I wish I wasn't..."]_

_[100 Prompts: flying]_


	2. I Wish I Could Remember

**I Wish I Could Remember**

* * *

_"The wand chooses the wizard_," _Ollivander told the gap-toothed little boy in his shop. "Here. Give this one a wave."_

_The boy did. The wand emitted a low-pitched hum and began to vibrate in his hand._

_"Very nice," Ollivander said with a nod. "First try. That's unusual."_

_"Is it bad?" the boy asked._

_"No. Not bad at all. Just unusual." He took the wand back and stowed it in a long box. "I would guess that you are going to be a very powerful wizard, Mr. Yaxley."_

* * *

It isn't until he's standing in Ollivander's that he realizes he can't recall the day he bought his wand.

It shouldn't bother him so much. He grew up in a wizarding family, after all; trips to Diagon Alley were frequent in his youth. He can hardly be expected to remember each and every time they'd Floo'd into the Leaky Cauldron. He's shuffled through the shops on this street a hundred times, from Madam Malkin's to Gringotts to the Magical Menagerie, and each place holds thousands of memories all blurred into smells and sounds and snapshots.

But he's only stepped into Ollivander's one time before this, and even though it was years ago, even though he was young then, it's a little unsettling that he can't remember the first time he held his wand.

"Mr. Yaxley," says the old man behind the counter. "I was wondering when I'd see you again."

(And he nearly gasps, because Ollivander remembers _him_, and that's not what he expected, and a part of him thinks that isn't _fair_.)

"Still using the same wand?" Ollivander continues pleasantly, but there's a flicker of fear in his eyes, because he knows what's coming, he knows why Yaxley's here, he knows there's nothing he can do. . . .

"Yes." Yaxley pulls it out and holds it up for the old man to see. "It's done me well. Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Ollivander says with a nervous chuckle. "The wand chooses the wizard, after all. And you're a powerful wizard, Mr. Yaxley. I always said you would be."

"I remember," he lies. _I wish I could remember._

"Mr. Yaxley," Ollivander says, beckoning him closer. "Let's not play games. I know why you're here. You know why you're here."

He laughed. "You don't know why I'm here."

"I do." With trembling hands, he lifts a long, thin box onto the counter. "You're here for a wand."

"Not that one. Not one of _your_ wands. Not the kind that comes in a box."

(Had his own wand come in a box? Had it been on a shelf, balanced between ten thousand other wands? Had it been stowed beneath the counter? Had it flown into his hand the moment he'd walked in?)

"Oh, I know exactly which wand you're after, Mr. Yaxley." He removes the lid and takes out the wand inside. "_You _don't know which wand. Your master would never have trusted you with such information. But I know the one."

"The Elder Wand," Yaxley snarls, but his heart isn't in it, he can't stop looking around this shop, trying to remember, trying to find _any inch _of it that's familiar. "My master trusts me. And _that _wand" - he points to the one in Ollivander's hand - "isn't it."

"No," Ollivander says. "No, I'm afraid this is _my _wand."

And he brings said wand down in a long, quick arc and sends Yaxley sprawling across the floor.

The Death Eater jumps to his feet and howls, "_Stupefy,_" but the wandmaker blocks it, sends it away like it's nothing, and comes back with a quiet, "_Expelliarmus._"

And Yaxley feels his wand begin to jump out of his hand but he holds tightly, he doesn't let go - he's a powerful wizard, Ollivander said so himself, even if Yaxley can't remember him saying it - and when he cries, _"Imperio!_" the old man is too surprised to do anything but succumb.

"You are under my control," Yaxley says in a low voice.

"I am under your control."

"Good. Very good." Yaxley licks his lips. "Now break your wand."

And Ollivander, with trembling hands, obeys.

* * *

_"You are going to be a very powerful wizard, Mr. Yaxley."_

_"You really think so?" the boy asked, eyes wide._

_"I do. And I haven't been wrong yet." Ollivander smiled and handed over the wand. "You'll have to come back and show me your magic someday."_

_"I will," the boy promised with a gap-toothed grin. "You won't even know what hit you."_

* * *

_[Wishes of the Dark Side Competition: Inner Circle - Yaxley, _expelliarmus_, "I wish I could remember..."]_

_[100 prompts: duel]_

_[Star Challenge: Shaula - write about a Death Eater]_


	3. I Wished Upon A Star

**I Wished Upon A Star**

* * *

He's always sort of wanted to be a Hufflepuff.

Because Hufflepuffs are kind to each other, and that sounds like paradise to him.

But his dad was a Slytherin and his mum was a Slytherin and all six of his cousins are Slytherins, so it's not his fault when he ends up there. It's just in his DNA. He's ambitious above all else, and even though maybe he could learn to be kind if they gave him the chance, all anyone ever sees when they look at him is a Snake.

"I wished upon this star to be in Hufflepuff," he admits very late one night, when it's only he and another first-year awake in the dormitory.

But the other boy snorts and punches his arm. "Please tell me that was a joke, or I'm going to be forced to hex you."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was a joke. Ha, ha."

* * *

And then there are the meetings, and he doesn't really know how he got roped into attending, but he did, and he's in the dungeons every other week with Snape and Avery and Mulciber and Rosier and they're talking about _killing _people, and if he were a braver man he'd stand up and walk out, but he's not brave, so he stays.

"You-Know-Who's having a gathering," Avery says. "At Borgin and Burkes, in Knockturn Alley. Next weekend. And I'm going to be there."

"I am, too," Mulciber says immediately, and one by one the others murmur their agreement.

"What about him?" Snape asks. "I didn't hear him speak up."

They're all looking at him now, and he licks his lips and says, "I've got an important exam coming up, I think I'd better stay here and study."

"Wilkes, you fool," Avery says, "if you join You-Know-Who, there's no _need _to study anymore. Not ever again."

"Oh. Okay. I guess I'll be there, then."

And he spends every night for the next two weeks wishing upon the stars that he'll find a way out of it, but the stars are undependable, and in the end he has to go.

* * *

And it doesn't end there.

Because after the gathering is a rally, and after the rally is a convention, and after that the fighting starts, and the duels, and the death count _skyrockets, _and he hates that he's responsible for some of them - he's killing strangers, he's killing acquaintances, he's killing former students and current students and once he kills a Hufflepuff - and when they come to arrest him he doesn't even fight, because Azkaban can't possibly be worse than the hell he lives in now.

"I wished upon a star it wouldn't come to this," he says as the aurors bind his hands together. "I didn't mean to."

"That's what they all say," one of them replies, and suddenly Wilkes is filled with an inexplicable rage.

"_No_," he says. "I mean it. I _wished _for a way out. I _begged the stars_."

They don't answer him, other than to snicker.

"Don't laugh at me," he warns, because he's got a lot of dark spells up his sleeve now, he's picked up some tricks along the way, and he's no stranger to killing.

(And he's going to Azkaban anyway.)

"You wished upon the stars?" an auror says. "Blimey, what are you, a muggle?"

And if he'd spent seven years in the company of Hufflepuffs, he might not see it as much of an insult.

But he isn't a Hufflepuff, he's a Slytherin, and a Death Eater besides, and he's _not a muggle _and _how dare they _and _to hell with the stars, to hell with wishing, it's gotten him nowhere and it's about time he does what he bloody well pleases._

So with a roar, he yanks free of them and begins to fire curses.

He hits one of them with the Cruciatus, and another with _Avada Kedavra_, and a third with a nasty reductor curse, and part of him is horrified but another part _relishes it._

And when one of the aurors fires a killing curse of his own and hits Wilkes in the back, he dies with his eyes open, staring at the stars that couldn't save him.

* * *

_[Wishes of the Dark Side Competition: Outer Circle - Wilkes, "I wished upon this star."]_


	4. I Wish I Could Make Them Pay

**I Wish I Could Make Them Pay**

* * *

He sits in the orphanage and stares out the dirt-streaked window with tears rolling down his equally dirt-streaked face, and he practices his hissing.

"I wish I could make them pay," he says over and over, and he hears the lingering _sss_ at the end of each syllable, and not for the first time he wonders how he learned this language that nobody seems to understand but the snakes.

"I wish I could make them pay."

It would serve them right if he sent a snake to bite them all. Who are they to tease him? What gives them the right to bully him, to hit him, to call him names? At least when _he _lashes out, he's only retaliating; the others are the ones who start it. Even Mrs. Cole is guilty of physical punishment, and he's got the bruise on his arm to prove it.

(By tomorrow it'll be healed. And he can't explain that any more than he can explain his hissing.)

"I wish I could make them pay."

And they're all running around and playing in the back garden, Mrs. Cole included, and he's been banned from coming outside because whenever he's around someone ends up hurt, but it's not his _fault_, it's _their _faults, _they're _the ones who make remarks about him,_ they're_ the ones who whisper that he's crazy, _they're _the ones who laugh at him behind their hands and whisper horror stories about him at night.

(If he had his way, he'd kill them all, and that's the truth.)

"I wish I could make them pay."

(He closes his eyes and imagines their bodies, all lined up in a row: Billy Stubbs, Amy Benson, Dennis Bishop, Eric Whalley. . . .)

"I wish I could make them pay."

"But you can," somebody says, and he opens his eyes and whirls around.

It's a snake - a female snake - and he doesn't know how she got inside, or why she's here, but he's intrigued by her words. "How?" he whispers. "How can I make them pay?"

"Oh, little master," the snake hisses, and there's a glint in her lidless eyes that makes him feel unsettled and excited at the same time. "You have so much to learn."

"Who are you?" he asks, and part of him doesn't want to know, but part of him _desperately does._

"My name is Nagini. I live below your window. I have seen how the muggles wrong you."

"Muggles?"

"Yes." Her tongue flicks out lazily between two long fangs. "I can help you make the muggles pay. I can make your wish come true."

(And she does.)

* * *

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Tom Riddle (Marauder/Riddle Era); Word Prompt: Crazy]_

_[Oh The Thinks You Can Think Challenge: __Spotted Atrocious - Write about a dangerous beast__.]_

_[Fiddler on the Roof Song Challenge: Sunrise, Sunset - write about childhood]_


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